


Lost Upon Waking

by lunesque (Moriavis)



Series: Survival [2]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big Bang Challenge, Black Male Character, Canon Character of Color, Community: ante_up_losers, Established Relationship, M/M, Male Character of Color, Mexican Character, POV Character of Color, POV Male Character, Rare Characters, Rare Pairing, Team Roque, Team Sniperknife, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriavis/pseuds/lunesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding themselves back with the team, Roque and Cougar must relearn how to live in a world with others, and continue the mission they thought they had left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Upon Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is all due to lady_krysis, and her unenviable job of keeping me writing. Thanks, bb.
> 
> Thanks to everyone on my big bang team for the cheerleading and encouragement, with special gratitude to kisahawklin, scheherezhad, and nagasvoice. I needed every last drop.

Roque came to consciousness in slow degrees; the rooster in the yard wasn't crowing yet, so if he could convince Cougar to wake up, they might be able to have a leisurely breakfast before their chores. As he turned over to reach out, he became aware of several things at once, and it jolted him out of sleep entirely. He was lying on the floor. There was a hum of machinery and people, and Roque could feel his pulse speed with adrenaline as he sat up and opened his eyes.

Jensen crowed in the background, immediate and triumphant, but all Roque could see was Clay, on one knee next to him; camouflage and combat boots, black t-shirt, his gun held loosely in his hand as he stared at Roque.

"Roque—" His name on Clay's lips. He remembered how once it would have twisted up his insides. The casual weight of it. "—What happened here?" 

He looked at everyone, his _team_ , long lost but never forgotten, and then swallowed, rubbing his chest to try and soothe the ache. He ignored them all, rising to his feet, his eyes searching out Cougar automatically. He found Cougar sitting upright against the wall, just now stirring, and walked over, crouched next to him. "Cougar," Roque said, his voice in undertone, for Cougar's ears only. "Wake up. We're not at home."

Cougar's forehead wrinkled in the way it usually did when he thought Roque wasn't saying anything sensible—because of course, where else would they be _besides_ home—and he opened his eyes.

"Jeez, guys, come on," Jensen complained, and Roque saw the moment when Cougar really woke up and recognized the situation. "I was like, a technological _wizard_ just now. Can I get applause? A _noisemaker_?"

Roque ignored Jensen for a moment, resting his hand on Cougar's elbow. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and intimate. "Slowly. The team's here. We're back at the installation."

Cougar swallowed, a reflexive up-down motion of his throat, and Roque was hit by memory, his teeth gentle against Cougar's pulse, and he shook his head to clear it. 

" _Cómo_ —" Cougar bit off his words as he sat up, and Roque turned back to the team, his skin prickling with unfamiliarity.

Clay was standing now, hard eyes flicking over them. "Max isn't here," he said. "We've got to go." There was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and Clay drew his gun, shot at the guard who popped in through the doorway. Roque's hand tightened on Cougar's arm, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm the jackrabbit quick beat of his heart. So much noise, people, things—he could feel his questions like lead in his stomach, and he closed his eyes with a vain, sinking hope that he would open them and find himself home, jazz playing on the record player and Cougar stepping through the door after feeding the animals.

When Roque opened his eyes again, the others were still there. He wondered when the hell he became so optimistic in the first place.

Cougar gripped Roque's arm, using it to lever himself up, and Roque slowly rose with him. He could smell sweat, a trace of something antiseptic and clean, the copper of blood, and he had to shut his eyes again.

"Guys, what's up?" Pooch this time, voice full of concern, and Roque felt Cougar twitch at the sound of it.

"We'll figure this out when we get off the island," Clay said, and Roque tracked his heavy footsteps to the open door. "We're leaving."

Roque swallowed, opened his eyes to find Cougar looking at him. He averted his eyes and pulled away, patting himself down as he went to grab his gun from the floor. All of his knives accounted for. Guns, clips—everything was there. He wasn't surprised by how easily everything came back to him; after all, once you've been in war, it never really went away—but what surprised him was all the things he had forgotten. The way blood smelled in the air when someone was killed, the burn of gunpowder in his nose.

"Cougar and I are compromised," Roque choked out.

"Are you okay?" Pooch asked, and Roque rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palms.

"I don't know. I don't—" Roque felt Cougar's hand on his arm, warm and comforting, and shook his head. "We're not okay."

"I thought power naps were supposed to make you feel better," Jensen joked, and Roque pulled his hands away from his eyes in time to see Cougar shake his head. "Guys, you're weirding me out. It was five minutes."

"It wasn't five minutes," Cougar said, and as always, the sound of his voice made Roque's heart beat faster. "It wasn't for us."

Clay inclined his head, although he hadn't taken his eyes from the door. "We need to get out of here first, We'll figure out what happened when we're safe." With that said, Clay stepped through the doorway, looking right and left before he gestured for the others to follow.

Jensen went after Clay, gestured for Cougar and Roque to come through after him while Pooch brought up the rear. It coiled something like fear in Roque's chest, a bitterness that they thought he would need to be taken care of—once, he would have been the one with his eyes pinned toward the back, protecting their flank. Now, he felt old and rusty and lost, like he'd been asleep and was still trying to shake the groggy fog from his mind. Cougar reached out and squeezed Roque's arm, and Roque twitched away, too uncomfortable to accept Cougar's comfort.

The world was loud compared to the one he and Cougar had left behind, and the questions were starting to pile up in his mind. Was this real? He wondered. And if it was real, what did that make the strange, idyllic life he'd shared with Cougar? For that matter, had he even shared anything with Cougar? Did they share the same memories? Roque felt a pulse of pain, a quiet ache in his temple, and he tried to shake it off, too nervous and adrenalized to risk any weakness.

Roque's eyes flicked from right to left as he heard the thunder of footsteps, heavy combat boots against linoleum. Jensen took one down with a crow of satisfaction, Clay taking down two more as he stalked down the hallway, all in the time it had taken Roque to raise his gun to his shoulder to brace for recoil. He felt out of place, alien. Somewhere in the last year, Roque had started thinking he would never see war again. It wouldn't have occurred to him that he was going soft, but now the thought ate at him, leaving a panicked, desperate want of survival. It made his hands tighten into fists, made his breath come in pants.

Cougar squeezed Roque's shoulder again, and this time Roque breathed, allowed himself to relax and take comfort in the touch. Cougar had touched him more in the past five minutes than he had at any time before their exile together. Surely that must have meant something. He wanted to curl into it, wanted to hold onto Cougar like he had during the bad nights, but this was hostile territory, and there was no room for softness. Roque turned his head to find Clay staring at him, and Roque pulled away from Cougar, the move instinctive, and he wished he could take it back when Cougar looked between him and Clay, his face smoothing out, distant and indifferent.

Roque turned his eyes back to the front, watching Jensen—this was a damned stupid place to think beyond the next order, and out of the fog of memory he recalled the simple, easy truth: there was no room for anything but obedience until they were safe.

Roque found his pulse jumping at every gunshot, took a long, careful breath every time he saw the wall next to him splinter, the plaster taking the bullet instead of his head, and he found himself wondering with a detached curiosity if that was it, if five years of civilian life had stolen from him the tools he needed to survive. What he and Cougar had shared, if they had shared it—it was a dream. It wasn't real.

And yet.

And yet.

When Roque shut down, breathed, moved with his team on instinct to get to safety, it was Cougar's breathing he searched out, the shadow of his hat, the measured step of his boots. 

Once, it would have been Clay he synched with, Clay who he'd trusted just as much as himself. 

There was a boat in the harbor, a tiny motorboat barely able to hold all five of them, and they all hunkered down on the deck while Pooch started motor and maneuvered them out of the harbor. Roque sank down to the deck and put his head in his hands. He thought he might be shaking. 

A shadow fell over him, and he jerked, instinctive and immediate, only to feel the drape of Cougar's hat on his head, shading his face and obscuring his eyes. Roque didn't have to look at the rest of their team, the ghosts, the loss he thought he'd come to terms with. He breathed in the smell of Cougar's hair, a whiff of salt and spice, and he was so grateful that his throat and chest tightened. Cougar was standing guard, and Roque heard the quick patter of Jensen's voice, the concern in Pooch, but he couldn't focus on the words. He didn't need to.

~*~

"Someone tell me what the hell is going on." The growl in Clay's voice made the hairs on the back of Roque's neck prickle, and he stared out of the window of the small building they were squatting in, his attention caught every other minute by sounds that should not have been there.

"Seriously, though," Jensen said, "you're acting like you're in the Twilight Zone. You're not in the Twilight Zone, are you? I always figured us as kind of an Outer Limits sort of team—"

"Jensen," Clay barked, and Jensen shut his mouth so fast his teeth made an audible click. He made a face, working his mouth in silence, and Clay pinned Roque with another look.

Roque knew Clay was waiting for an answer, but he still wasn't quite sure what happened himself. "In that room. Where Cougar and I passed out—"

"You were out for five minutes," Pooch said, taking one of the chairs and flipping it backwards so he could prop an arm on the back. "We think. Jensen and I came almost immediately after you."

"No one's even said 'thank you' yet," Jensen pointed out.

"Thank you, Jensen." Pooch grinned.

"You're welcome."

"I wasn't passed out," Roque said, turning to face Clay. "I was in—we were in this empty world—"

"It wasn't five minutes," Cougar interrupted, and the sound of Cougar's voice made everyone turn to look at him. "It was five years."

"You—remember?" Roque forced himself to say, and Cougar gave a sharp nod, tilting his hat to avoid meeting anyone's eyes.

Clay didn't look like he believed a word they were saying, his eyes hard as the flicked between Roque and Cougar. "Jensen." Jensen bolted upright, as though surprised to hear his name. "Is that possible?"

Jensen's mouth worked soundlessly for a couple of seconds. "Maybe? I mean—what do you guys remember?"

Roque locked eyes with Cougar. He remembered too much—cows for dairy and beef, chickens, solar power, the day they drove into the city and tested out all the mattresses in the Ethan Allen's store until they found their favorite, sweaty and sore and smiling too hard by the end of the day—

"I remember that the world was empty of people," Roque said, averting his face before it revealed too much. From the corner of his eye, he could see Cougar nod in agreement.

Jensen raised his hands in surrender when Clay looked his way again. "You got me. I could hazard a guess, but without the machine that's all it would be."

"What's your guess, then?" Clay snapped.

Jensen pushed his glasses up his nose. "Virtual reality?"

Pooch snorted. "You've been watching too many movies, man."

"I haven't been watching _any_ movies," Jensen disagreed. "Being on the run is bad news for my television addiction, okay?"

"Virtual reality?" Clay gritted out, and Jensen shot Clay another look. 

"Uh. Yeah? I mean, brains process things way faster, so they could've lived a long time—in this case, five years—in the time it took to get them out. It's as possible as anything else."

"So." Clay inhaled a sharp breath. "Our best guess is that Roque and Cougar have been stuck in virtual reality for five years with each other?"

There was a moment of silence, and Jensen sniggered. "Poor Cougs."

Pouch laughed, and the sound rang loud and sudden in the awkward silence. "Uh." Pooch looked at Clay, Cougar, and Roque, thrown off by their sour faces. "Man, come on. That was funny."

Roque rubbed his hand over his face and turned to look out the window again, his eyes tracking every flicker of movement. Everything seemed so different now. He'd grown used to the sounds of animals and insects, and now he couldn't help but notice all the noise that came with humanity—the cars on the roads, the music playing from a house two buildings down the street, the casual chatter he could hear from the sidewalks.

The door to their hideout swung open, and Aisha walked in. Roque turned toward the noise, but she didn't bother to look at him, sending Clay an inquisitive glance. "Well? Did you find anything?"

A muscle worked in Clay's jaw, and he glared at Aisha. "No."

'Unless you count a potential virtual reality," Jensen added.

Aisha frowned, and Roque tried to remember the feelings he'd had about her—all anger and annoyance and distrust. This didn't seem real anymore, and it was going to get his ass killed. His team's too, probably.

"What do you mean, virtual reality?" Aisha asked.

Clay waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. The problem is that Roque and Cougar may be out."

Any friendliness that Aisha might have been cloaking herself with dropped immediately, and she pinned Clay with a cold stare. She turned to Roque and then Cougar, giving them each a calculating stare. "What do you mean?"

"They claim—" And Clay's easy dismissal of their story made the old familiar anger curl under his skin, "—that they've spent five years as civilians. In a world with no people."

"A muscle worked in Aisha's jaw. "You're telling me that we've lost our demolitions expert _and_ our sniper?"

"I can still shoot," Cougar said, soft and unexpected. 

She looked at Roque again. "And you?"

Roque looked back outside as he thought about his specialty. What bullshit. "You don't forget how to do the things I do," he said instead. "That's not the problem. It's—" Roque looked at Cougar for support, his eyes flickering after a moment to Clay, who should understand. "It's the people. The noise. I'm jumping every time I hear a goddamned car backfire."

Aisha stalked up to Roque and shoved him in the chest. Roque stumbled back a step, caught himself with a hand on the windowsill, and his reaction seemed to make her unhappier. "You're a soldier, right? You deal with it. I don't get Max, you don't go home."

Roque's hand fell to his belt, and he flipped up one of his knives with a sigh. "I still want to stab you. Good to know some things don't change."

"You're making threats you can't back up now?" Aisha asked, and Roque grinned, an angry twist of his mouth.

"One way to find out." Roque tossed his knife to his other hand as he stared at Aisha, and he almost wished she would make a move, just so he could get rid of the nervous energy that had possessed him since he'd woken up.

"Back to your corners," Clay said, and Roque waited until Aisha had dismissed him before he slipped his knife back in its sheath. Clay motioned to Jensen, and the three of them started talking about whatever it was that Jensen had found on the damned island. It left Pooch, Cougar, and Roque in an awkward sort of silence, and Pooch cleared his throat.

"So. Let's say I believe this 'you lost five years in your heads' thing. What did you _do_ all that time?"

Cougar and Roque stared at each other, and Roque couldn't open his mouth, had too much that he couldn't say. The jazz, the card games, the cows—

"I learned how to make cheese," Cougar said, and Pooch laughed.

"Really?" Pooch shook his head, shoulders still trembling with his laughter. "You can make cheese? You know you've got to make it for us now, right?"

Cougar just gave Pooch a look, and Pooch grinned, knocking shoulders with him playfully. The look on Cougar's face made Roque realize that Cougar hadn't been touched by anyone but Roque for five years, and—

"I'm going out," Roque said, short and quiet, and he ran a hand through his hair as he stalked to the door. No one stopped him, and he supposed that was a blessing. He went to a real restaurant, paid in real paper money, and got the first meal he'd eaten that hadn't been home made in years.

It was good.

~*~

The thing between him and Cougar, Roque thought after his second beer, when he was feeling warm from the alcohol, it happened because Cougar needed someone to touch. There was a whole world for him to touch now. He wouldn't stay. Roque wouldn't blame him.

Roque swept the room with his eyes again, uncomfortable still with all the damned people, the way they moved, the way they smelled, and Roque threw money on the bar for an extra tip just because he'd been particularly surly to the bartender, and then he shoved his hands in his pockets and left. 

The street was only marginally better. There was still neon light flashing, noise from the cars zooming past. He'd felt like this before, coming off an op in the rain forest, when it had been quiet of humans. He'd adjusted. He'd adjust again. When he finally made it back to their hideout, Pooch and Jensen were playing cards. Clay and Aisha had vanished, and Roque remembered just enough about their games with each other to feel a knot of jealousy harden in his stomach.

"Where's Cougar?" Roque found himself asking.

Pooch pointed to one of the closed doors, giving Roque another tentative smile. "Sleeping, we think. You wanna join the game?"

Roque shook his head, not bothering to try for a smile to comfort Pooch and Jensen. He doesn't remember if he really smiled at all when he was here anyway.

"You know you wanna," Jensen said. "My Beretta against your Bowie?"

Roque did smile at that, a barely there tug at the corner of his mouth. "No chance. I'll throw in on the next one."

"Cool," Jensen said, and they both looked relieved, which made Roque feel even worse. It wasn't their fault he was fucked up. He gave them a little two-fingered salute and left the warehouse again. He didn't feel like going out again, or dealing with anyone, but he did find a maintenance latch on a firescape on the side of the warehouse, and he climbed it, looking forward to the relative peace of the roof.

Roque laid back on the cement of the roof; it still held some residual heat from the sunlight, but it was okay, a little relaxing. He opened his eyes to look at the stars, but with so many people and so many lights, they were blurred out by the pollution.

He closed his eyes instead, taking slow, deep breaths.. That sound was a car backfiring. That sound was a plane overhead. God, how he missed his damned cows. To his left he could hear boots on the ladder, and then Cougar sat down, warm against Roque's side. "Thought you were sleeping," he murmured.

"Couldn't sleep." Cougar shifted beside him. "Too loud."

Roque grunted and slung an arm over his face. "Surprised you aren't playing cards."

Cougar stayed silent at that, but they had spent enough time together that he could read the silence, knew that Cougar's forehead was probably wrinkling in that way it did when he thought Roque was being difficult for no reason. Again. Hell, he probably was.

"Didn't want to?" Roque answered for him instead. "Never knew you could turn down a card game." Cougar remained silent, so Roque continued filling the space between them with his words. "It looks like you're doing okay out here. Soon you'll be back to shooting things and making jokes with your eyebrows again. At least I'll understand them now—"

Cougar pushed Roque's arm away from his face and kissed him, bent awkwardly over Roque, his dark hair framing their faces. Roque reached up, knocking Cougar's hat aside as he gripped a handful of Cougar's hair, Cougar's mouth firm on his, hard, like he was trying to make a point. When Cougar pulled away, Roque opened his eyes, forced his hand to release Cougar's hair. "What was—"

"This happened," Cougar said, and he jabbed a finger in the center of Roque's chest. "We happened, Roque."

Roque blinked and sat up to get a better look at Cougar's face. "Yeah?" His voice was gruff, and he could feel a catch itching in his throat.

"Yeah." Cougar watched Roque and reached out to his left to grab his hat, sitting it back on top of his head.

The stern warning in Cougar's eyes was a little comforting, Roque thought, as if Cougar were annoyed that he could have guessed Cougar might not be on his side. "Hey," Roque said, "you can't blame me for thinking--"

Cougar raised an eyebrow, and Roque's mouth snapped shut.

There was the crunch of gravel underneath boots, and they paused, looking over the edge of the roof, silent and discreet. It was Clay, back from wherever he had vanished to earlier, and he looked up to see them, perhaps caught by the movement. Roque and Cougar weren't exactly as stealthy as they used to be. Cougar leaned back once his curiosity was satisfied, but Roque couldn't resist watching, sketching the details into his mind that he'd once forgotten—the tired set of Clay's mouth, the gray peppering his dark hair. Clay broke their connection first and went inside, and Roque breathed, trying to settle his nerves.

Cougar's face was furrowed when Roque looked back. "What?" Roque asked, scooting back to where he had originally been sitting and leaning against Cougar to steal a little comfort. Cougar shook his head, his frown deepening, and Roque set a hand on Cougar's knee, gently wiggling it back and forth. "Don't be jealous. I've only got eyes for you." Cougar rolled his eyes and punched Roque's shoulder, and Roque felt something loosen inside his chest, the knot of fear he'd been carrying since he woke up slowly starting to dissolve. "Come on." Roque stood up and offered a hand to Cougar, giving him a tug up. "I'm thinking Pooch and Jensen need their asses kicked at cards. I've been playing with you for too long."

~*~

Jensen shot to his feet in protest. "What do you mean, they're _benched_?"

"Exactly what I said, Jensen," Clay said, unfazed by Jensen's outburst. "Sit your ass down."

"Just—let me get this straight." Pooch rubbed a hand over his head as he frowned. "You want us to go after another one of Max's possible locations, and you want to do it with two-fifths of the team missing? Is there something here I'm not getting?"

"You heard right," Clay said, "but they can't be out on the field. Look at them."

Roque rubbed at the center of his forehead with his thumb, trying to ward away an impending headache. "He's right. We can't just jump back in. We'll be careless and it'll put you guys in danger."

Pooch shrugs. "Sounds to me that's a good reason to pause for a second, you know? Get both of you back into shape before we start heading after Max again."

"We can't," Clay said shortly. "We have a limited window here, folks. We miss it, Max is out of our reach for good." He looked at Roque and Cougar and rubbed a hand over his face. "Get geared up and meet me at the Jeep. We leave in twenty."

Jensen and Pooch nodded once and headed out of the room to get ready, complaining to each other in undertone as they left. Clay stared at Roque and Cougar for another long minute, and Roque felt itchy with it, wanted to pace or punch the expression off Clay's face. "You need to get your fucking heads on straight, you hear me? We can't have you on the sidelines, we need you out there."

"Hey," Roque said, " _you're_ the one benching _us_. I might agree with you, but don't you treat us like it's our fault."

Clay scoffed. "Yeah? Think I can trust you to have my back when you're like this?"

"Only way we'd know is if we get out there and try it."

Clay's eyes cut to the side, and for a moment Roque could understand how weird everything must be from his end; Cougar would've vanished with Pooch and Jensen five minutes ago to let them yell their anger out, but now Cougar was solidly at Roque's side, chin raised as he watched them argue.

"If you can prove that you've got my back out there," Clay said, staring them down, "then we'll talk.

"We have nothing to prove." Cougar's voice was low and calm as always, but Roque still jumped a little when he heard it. It was the perfect opportunity for a dismissal, too, so Roque stood and went through the door of the warehouse, having just enough control over his emotions that he didn't slam the door behind him.

Cougar fell into step a second later, and Roque cut a glance from the corner of his eye. "You didn't have to do that."

"No."

"It's gonna make things harder for us."

"Don't care."

Roque huffed a small laugh, and they shared a grin before Pooch and Jensen popped up.

"Is he really benching you?" Jensen asked immediately. "Because that is so not cool. You're going to miss all the fun."

"Trade you," Pooch said with a wry twist to his mouth that said he wasn't entirely joking.

"Clay's a bastard, you know that. This is a vacation. Going to work on my tan." 

Jensen laughed, and Pooch rolled his eyes, but clapped a hand to Roque's shoulder. "Sure, man. Have fun."

"You're the one that's going to be doing all the fun stuff." They said their good-byes, and Cougar tilted his hat before walking off to god knows where, and Roque found himself with some unexpected peace and quiet. He gathered together some of his knives and set up a target against one of the warehouse walls, throwing the knives end over end one by one, a little gratified when they all struck their target.

There as a meditative quality to throwing, Roque had discovered years back, but it had been so long since he allowed himself to get into a pattern that it felt brand new; cleared his thoughts and left him feeling powerful. Somewhere in the distance, his team was getting ready to leave him behind, piling into the truck as three-fifths of a team, and it was hard not to feel bitter about that. He heard them drive away, and then there was silence. He knew Cougar was still on site, but hell if he knew where Cougar had run off to—the guy could be sneaky as fuck when he wanted to be.

There was a loud rumbling motor coming from Roque's left, and Roque turned, a knife poised casually between his fingers. It was Cougar, roaring into the parking lot on a motorcycle, and Roque smirked, slipping his knife back into its sheath as he watched Cougar nudge the kickstand down and tip his hat, his smile a barely there slant of amusement.

"Going my way?" Cougar asked, and Roque laughed.

"Yeah." It took two steps to straddle the motorcycle behind Cougar, to wrap his arms around Cougar's waist. Cougar didn't disappoint, revving the motor once before he took off, heading south.

Roque didn't need to ask where they were going. Obviously, it was home.

~*~

The drive down to North Carolina didn't take quite as long the second time as it did the first, mostly because they weren't stopping in every city to look for survivors. It was nice in its own way, though--their helmets provided cover from the wind and the bugs, and Roque could simply keep his arms loose around Cougar's waist and trust him to keep them moving. Who knew how much time they really had, and Roque knew that Clay would be furious to find them gone if they weren't back before the rest of the team completed their mission.

He was pretty sure that they weren't going to make it back before Clay did, but for some reason it didn't worry him as much as it used to.

They pulled off the highway and headed into Dunham, caught lunch at a diner just off the road, and continued on. Cougar idled to a stop just outside the gate of the farm that they had lived in for five years, and Roque frowned. Gone were the solar panels, the haphazard, multicolored roof patches from their repairs. Gone were the cows and the chickens, and that more than anything told Roque just how far away from okay they were. 

"Do you miss it?" Roque asked, staring out over the field and finding the apple tree that they had loved to nap beneath.

"No." Roque frowned, but remained silent, waiting for Cougar to continue. "Yes." Cougar pulled off his helmet and hung it from one of the handlebars of the motorcycle, and ran his fingers through his hair. "It won't be like that again. It can't be like that again."

Roque sighed, staring up at the house again. "Yeah. I know."

"But—" Cougar looked at Roque, flipped up the visor of Roque's helmet so he could see Roque's eyes and Roque tugged it off entirely. "We are."

Roque waited for Cougar to expand on that, but Cougar just sat and looked at Roque as if he were waiting for Roque to catch up.

Roque smirked and dropped his hands to Cougar's hips, squeezing. "Is this your way of saying we're not breaking up?"

"I've spent five years with your sorry ass," Cougar said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I've invested too much time to go anywhere else."

Roque couldn't resist him, after that, and kissing Cougar felt natural, familiar. Roque hung onto the feeling as long as he could and then pulled away, rubbing his thumb tenderly against Cougar's bottom lip. "This is one of those days where I would've let you fuck me over the kitchen counter," Roque said, and he would be embarrassed to say that he was a little gratified by the flash of heat in Cougar's eyes. "But seeing as people are actually living there right now, how's about we go find ourselves a hotel room?"

Cougar grinned and took Roque's helmet from him, setting it in place before turning to put his own helmet back on. He gunned the engine, waiting for Roque to fasten his arms around his waist again. Roque squeezed Cougar tight and pressed his face to Cougar's shoulder so he wouldn't have the urge to look back at their old home one last time, and fortunately Cougar was driving fast enough that they were on the highway again before Roque could convince himself that surely one last look wouldn't hurt.

Cougar pulled off the road to a hotel with a vacancy, and Roque slid off the back of the bike, going inside the office to purchase a room. He came out of the lobby with two key cards and handed one to Cougar before he walked toward their room. He didn't look behind him to see if Cougar was following him, although he still started at the sound of a car door slamming somewhere in the distance.

Once in the room, Roque set his helmet on the table and looked around the room, noting the purple, striped wallpaper as he walked the perimeter, getting used to the space of the room while he waited. It took a couple of minutes before he started to get comfortable, and he kicked off his shoes, unbuckling his belt and draping it over the back of one of the chairs.

He heard Cougar's heavy, booted footsteps outside the room, the swish of the keycard in the door, the creak of it opening to let Cougar inside, and they stood and stared at each other as the door closed.

"We—" Roque opened his mouth to speak, and Cougar surged forward, sliding his hand around the back of Roque's neck and dragging him in for a kiss. Roque gripped Cougar's hips, breathed a sound of satisfaction as they moved together toward the bed, clothing flying as they feverishly worked through buttons and zippers.

"There are millions of other people—" Roque said through their kisses, wondering why his brain won't shut up when there's skin and heat and Cougar's tongue in his mouth.

" _Madre de Dios_ , shut up." He shoved Roque onto the bed, climbing over him the moment Roque's back hit the covers. Every touch was a comfort, a familiarity, and Roque relaxed against the blankets, arms coming up to squeeze Cougar closer as they kissed. It felt the same in the real world, and Roque was grateful for it. Roque lost himself there, in the cheap motel sheets, in the smell of Cougar and the press of Cougar's body against his. There was an awkward moment where they had to figure out condoms again--

"Where did you get that?" Roque asked, and Cougar smirked.

"The bathroom. Convenient."

—but they figured it out, laughing softly together. Cougar urged Roque onto his hands and knees, pressed a kiss to Roque's shoulder as he prepared him, and he was so slow, so careful as he moved inside Roque that Roque felt shaky, choked with his silence. His fingers clenched in the sheets as they moved together, and he climaxed with Cougar's name on his lips.

After they were done, they stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room, their fingers laced together, loose but present. Roque had learned over the years that Cougar needed the contact, although still couldn't quite bring himself to draw Cougar up against his side and cuddle.

Cougar sighed, and Roque could feel the tension pulling into his shoulders at the sound. "I don't know what's going on with you and Clay," he said, breaking the silence after a long pause, "but I don't like the way he talks to you."

"He hasn't changed," Roque said. His forehead creased in a frown, and he didn't bother to look at Cougar, the tightening of his fingers around Cougar's already too much of a tell.

"I have," Cougar said. "I don't like it."

Roque stirred and pulled away, sitting up and pulling his hand away from Cougar's as he looked around the room for his clothes. "Don't worry about it."

"Should I be jealous?" 

Cougar rested his hand against Roque's back, and Roque chanced a look at him. Cougar's voice was playful, but his dark eyes were serious, and Roque shrugged. "Nothing to be jealous about." Cougar looked unconvinced, and Roque swept Cougar's hat up from the floor and set it on Cougar's head, getting out of bed to pull on his jeans. "Time to go. They'll be worried about you."

"About us," Cougar corrected, and Roque didn't bother to argue.

~*~

It was late in the evening when Cougar and Roque made it back to base, and at the sound of the bike, Jensen was already at the door, his eyes large and relieved. "Jesus Christ, guys, leave a note next time?"

"Sure," Roque said, and Cougar smirked.

Pooch wandered out and circled the motorcycle they were on, looking over the ride before he gave a friendly punch to Cougar's shoulder. "How about you leave the vehicles to me, next time?"

Cougar tipped his hat in agreement, and Roque dismounted from the bike seconds before the door to Clay's trailer swung open. Clay's face was cold, displeasure carved into his face like stone. "Roque, get your ass in here."

Roque shared a glance with his team, a little less of a glare and more of a 'what can you do?' sort of commiseration, and headed over to Clay's quarters, what he'd always referred to himself as Clay's tactical headquarters. He shut the door behind him and crossed his arms; Clay was facing away from him, hands planted against the wall.

"What is it now?" Roque took a step away from the door and cocked his hip against the little table Clay had set up, maps and plans scattered over its surface.

"Are you fucking him?"

Roque frowned. To be honest, this would have been the last thing he expected to hear. "What?"

"Cougar." Clay's voice was rough, clipped. He could tell the tension in that, even if Clay's shoulders hadn't been corded to hell with tension. "Are you fucking him?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Roque said.

Clay whirled around at Roque's words. "It's damn well my business. When did it happen? When did it start?"

Roque frowned and crossed his arms over his chest again. "Still not any of your goddamned business."

"There's a reason we don't allow fraternization—"

"Fraternization?" Roque grit his teeth and dropped his hands to the sides, his fingers clenching into fists. "Don't give me any shit about _fraternization_. We're not military anymore Clay, regardless of what you think. There is no damned _fraternization_ anymore. We're civilians with big guns, and that's all we are."

"What happened to you?" Clay snapped, and Roque opened his mouth, a loud, ugly laugh forcing its way out of his throat.

"What happened to _me_? Oh, that's rich, Clay. I'm not the one who decided to make Max my white whale. No one cares about any of this anymore. We're just following you because we're loyal, not because we actually give a shit about Max."

"Get out!" Clay shouted, and he ran a hand through his hair, turning away from Roque again.

"Fine," Roque spat. "Ignore me. But Ahab wasn't the only one who went down with the ship."

Clay spun around, his fist flying, and Roque didn't have time to dodge, the weight and force of Clay's knuckles busting his lip. Roque reacted on instinct, his own fist aimed at Clay's face, and for a second everything was crystal clear. It felt like going in slow motion, punching Clay, and his fist crunched against Clay's jaw, sending a painful shiver up Roque's arm. Clay was rocked back by the force of the blow for a second, and then he charged, ramming into Roque's midsection and lifting him clear off the ground, only to slam him into the table, which gave up it's spindly strength immediately, sending them both crashing into the floor.

Roque's back ached, and it just made him angrier. He grabbed a handful of Clay's hair and yanked his head back, and he could feel Clay's fingers scrabbling at his throat, pulling him forward. Clay's mouth crashed down on Roque's like a punch, his mouth hard and angry, and in the next moment Clay hauled himself off of Roque completely, spinning around and shoving a hand through his hair. 

Roque felt very old and very tired, and he slowly got up out of the debris of the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I waited an entire year in Brazil for you to do that," he said. Clay didn't even bother to turn around. "Fuck you." There aren't any other words, just anger and disappointment and loss lodged like a stone in Roque's gut, so he turned around and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

No one was waiting outside, and that didn't surprise Roque in the least. He suspected they all scattered the moment the first punch was thrown. Maybe even before. Roque stalked over to the warehouse everyone was sharing and shoved open the door. Jensen jumped at the sound, but Cougar just lifted up his hand of cards, eyebrow arched in invitation. Roque was pretty sure he snarled something close to 'no', or perhaps it was just a raging bark of sound; he couldn't be sure, so he just stomped into his bedroom and slammed his door shut behind him with a satisfying crash.

He didn't sleep much that night. That was hardly a surprise.

~*~

"Get your stuff together. We're moving." Aisha had barely walked through the door before she began giving orders, and at this point, Roque was kind of grateful. At least he _knew_ Aisha was using them for her own ends. The important thing was that she was also offering them a way home.

Jensen started moving immediately, collecting his bits and pieces, his laptop and various other electronics that he had scattered across the hideout in the time they'd been sharing the space. 

Roque frowned at Aisha and slipped his Bowie into its sheath. "Where are we going? I thought Clay was giving the orders here—when did it become your show?"

Aisha gave Roque a deeply unimpressed look, turned on her heel, and walked out.

Roque shook his head and turned to grab his own stuff, hoisting his bags over his shoulder. When he pushed through the door into sunlight, he found Clay waiting by their vehicle, and he felt the dull ache of last night's anger pulse through him, making his face hurt. "Since when is Aisha giving orders to your _team_ , Clay?"

"Drop it," Clay didn't even bother to look at Roque, his eyes fixed past Roque's shoulder to watch the other guys come out. "We're going after Max. Aisha has a new lead."

"Good for her," Roque shook his head and moved around Clay to throw his stuff in the back. "Since we keep fucking it up."

"I've noticed," Aisha responded, but Roque just ignored her and climbed into the van to take a seat. Cougar claimed the seat next to him, leaned against the window with his hat tilted, and promptly pretended to go to sleep. Roque nudged Cougar's foot in appreciation and pretended not to notice the small smile that curled Cougar's mouth.

Pooch took the wheel, of course, and Aisha vanished into a small black sportscar, wheels spinning as she left them in the dust. They drove for a couple of hours, coming up to a harbor, and Clay said something in undertone to Pooch, who pulled into a small nook off the main river, where a small boat was waiting.

"You've got to be shitting me," Roque said, leaning forward to get a better look.

"We're keeping under the radar until we get to L.A.," Clay responded, getting out of the car and shutting the door behind him. The rest of the team followed, Jensen shading his eyes as he looked at the boat. "This is where we're going to do our work."

"Aye-aye, captain!" Jensen saluted, Pooch rolled his eyes, and for a moment Roque could pretend that they were the same team they had always been.

~*~

Roque opened bleary eyes, his head pounding. He remembered following after Clay into one of the large storage crates on the dock, and then—he shook his head, trying to clear it, and over the roaring in his ears he heard the click of footsteps. He cast a wary look to his left and right, noting that they were in a warehouse, that he could still smell the ocean. He probably hadn't been moved too far. To his right, Clay was tied up, head drooping , and Roque could see dried blood on Clay's forehead beneath his hair.

"You're awake?" Roque followed the line of brown leather shoes, gray linen slacks, and the man crouched before him. He looked very unhappy, and Roque had the feeling that he'd seen this man before, although he couldn't place when he might have met him. "Good. I hate it when people pass out before I'm done with them." Roque tracked the clean, sharp look of him, the American flag pinned to his lapel, and Roque knew that he must be looking at Max. Finally.

Clay groaned, stirring on the ground next to Roque, and they both looked over to watch him. Max stood and walked away, his hands clasped behind him as he looked out the open entrance to the ocean beyond. Wade stepped in and righted Clay, patting his cheek to wake him up.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Roque," Max said, still standing in the entrance, and Roque frowned, jerked his head around to glare at Max. "I don't think very highly of men who go back on their promises."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Roque asked, and he struggled against the ropes for a moment, his arms cording with effort. "I've never talked to you before."

Max turned away from his view to give Roque a skeptical look. "I don't think highly of liars, either. You were the one who came to me."

Clay was still beside Roque, and he turned his head to give Roque a hard stare. "What is he talking about?"

Roque shook his head. "I have no idea."

Wade went up to Max's side, whispered something to him, and Max's eyes cleared. "You were the ones at my island." Max nodded to himself with the realization, and something uncomfortable cramped in Roque's stomach. "That's right. You may not even remember."

"Whatever it was," Roque said, drawing himself up and kneeling, "it obviously wasn't very important."

"I beg to differ." Max strode forward to stand in front of Roque again. "It's not every day you get a call about your enemies. I do appreciate that, even if you didn't follow through." Max paused. "I didn't actually _need_ your help, but—still, very commendable."

"Son of a bitch," Clay breathed. "You lying bastard."

"Right." Roque gritted his teeth against the urge to kick out at Clay. This was a bad situation and he wouldn't make it worse by fighting with Clay again. "Max says something that I don't even remember, and I'm a lying bastard. Aisha tries to kill you, and you still fucking think she has rainbows shooting out of her ass."

Max rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. "I don't care. Kill them both. I have a bomb to play with." Wade jerked his head sharply at a couple of the guards who had been at the back door and followed after Max. 

Roque and Clay were yanked up to their feet, the cold, familiar press of a gun barrel against Roque's head making his heart thrum with adrenaline as they jostled together, herded toward the entrance like a couple of angry bulls. Roque squinted out in the sunlight, looked around for the rest of their team. Maybe they didn't get caught. He knew them, though. They'd come back, even for two idiots like him and Clay.

The guards marched them away from the building, shoving them up against the nearest building. "On your knees," one of them ordered, and Roque obeyed only because he couldn't keep his balance, landing heavily on the asphalt beside Clay. He refused to die with his head down, and he stared at the guard in front of him as he raised his gun, aiming the barrel straight between his eyes.

"Always thought I'd end up like this with you," Clay whispered, and Roque looked away from the gun, toward Clay, the old ache twisting in his chest. Clay turned his face toward Roque, his forehead lined, his mouth twisted in frustration, and the breath froze in Roque's chest.

Roque heard the rifle fire and flinched, expecting pain, wondering how much he'd feel before his brain gave up. To his surprise, it was the guard in front of him who went down, gurgling as he clawed at his throat. There were two more gunshots, and the guard in front of Clay went down before he could do anything more than gape.

Roque swallowed convulsively, turning away from Clay as a shudder of relief ran through him. He forced himself to take a breath, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Jensen and Pooch running toward them. He could see Cougar climbing down from one of the rigs, and his shoulders went slack, tension he hadn't known he was carrying running off of him.

"Man, oh man," Jensen said as he slid to a stop next to Clay, pulling out a knife and sawing at the ropes around Clay's wrists. "We thought you guys were dead, but we saw Max and Wade and we thought what the hell, they're lucky bastards—"

Clay struggled up and rubbed his wrists. "Leave him," he barked at Pooch, and Pooch paused, his knife still pressed against the rope binding Roque.

"Are you fucking serious?" Roque blurted out.

Pooch shook his head and finished sawing through the ropes. "It's Roque, man—"

"He sold us out to Max," Clay said, glaring at Roque as Roque shook his hands to get back his circulation.

"I don't _remember_." Roque crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down at Clay, his skin prickling. Everyone was staring at them. "It was five years ago!"

"Convenient." Clay scoffed and shook his head, and that was it. Roque wasn't going to deal with Clay's crap anymore. For a moment, he'd thought—well, obviously it didn't matter.

"You know—" Roque turned away from Clay and cupped his hands over his head, shoulders hunching in aggravation before he spun back around. "Fuck you. I wish I _had_. I wish I _had_ , because I'd already be away from this bullshit."

Pooch took a step back, and Jensen gave a weak laugh. "Okay, knock it off—"

"You can't say you wouldn't do the same thing," Roque said, flinging a hand out at Jensen. "How many Petunia games have you missed? How many times did you use a satellite to stalk Jolene?" Roque shook his head. "I would do it all over again, do it for real, if it meant we could go home."

Pooch frowned and turned away, rubbing a hand over his head. "You had to mention Jolene. Man."

Jensen gave a burst of nervous laughter. "I don't use satellite surveillance to do things like _that_. I only use it for _serious_ things, like, Max tracing and money trails—"

Clay grabbed a pistol off of Jensen's tac vest and aimed it at Roque, and Roque smirked, raising his hands. "Do it if you're gonna do it, Clay. I'm done. I'm out."

Clay's finger tightened on the trigger.

The boom of an explosion shook the ground hard enough to make Roque's teeth rattle, and he flung himself to the left just as Clay pulled the trigger. The impact in his shoulder made him lose his balance, and Roque rolled with it, landing flat on his back . Roque coughed, unable to catch his breath, and kicked out at Clay, his boot connecting with Clay's wrist and causing him to drop the gun. He seized one of his own from the dead guard next to him and scrambled to his feet, tripping under his own momentum as he clapped a hand to his bleeding shoulder and ran. Fuck Clay. _Fuck_ him.

Roque ran until he was lost in the stacks of shipping containers, and he stumbled to a stop, slamming his back to one of the boxes and tipping his head back as he hissed out a breath. Before, he'd only felt the impact, but now the bullet wound had started to ache, pain pulsing with every throb of his pulse. He ripped the hem of his shirt and tore off enough to make a makeshift bandage, trying to get enough breath to think.

He was alone, wounded, and Clay and the others had undoubtedly given up on him for the time being, with the bigger fish of Max being dangled so closely. He closed his eyes, tried to think of that long ago phone call he'd had with Wade. He couldn't remember anything he said, not anymore, but he did know that they had been tracking Max's money. With his former team as a distraction, maybe this would be the perfect time to get enough to get out for real.

~*~

Roque advanced slowly, his stolen gun at the ready, and with each guard he killed, he picked up another weapon—a gun to go in his waistband, a knife to throw if he ran out of bullets, and he stopped long enough to get at the shirt beneath the armor, fashioning a better compress for his shoulder. The pain wasn't getting any worse, which was a blessing, but he wasn't sure how much blood he'd lost, and he had a suspicion the bullet was still lodged against the bone.

He followed the gunfire until he could see the wings of the airplane, stretching out over some of the lower stacks of containers, and he crept as close as he could without losing cover, scouting the positions of Clay and Aisha. Pooch and Jensen were easy to find, too, pinned under gunfire by more of Max's agents. He couldn't find Cougar, but that was hardly a surprise. He had no idea what Cougar must be thinking about him, and it stung, imagining Cougar's disgust.

He shook himself out, focused on the plane and tried not to let the gunfire get to him. He sprinted to the landing gear, hiding himself behind one of the wheels, and then hunkered down, creeping back until he could grab the stairs and climb into the plane. He didn't know how much time he had, so he spared only a second to stare in awe at the money literally sitting in stacks around him. He cut open the plastic on one of the pallets, and scavenged through the plane until he found a duffel bag. He set it on top of the pallet and started shoving money into it, looking right and left in quick, desperate bursts.

He heard steps behind him and whirled around, his gun at the ready, only to find Wade, his gun also pointed center mass at Roque's chest.

"If you get me out of here," Roque found himself saying, "we can split it."

Adrenaline spiked in Roque's chest, and he prepared himself to shoot. "Come on, Wade. Clock's running fast on this one."

"Fuck it," Wade said, and he slipped his gun in his holster. "Max doesn't pay me enough anyway."

Roque felt a surge of relief, and he cocked a grin as he resumed stuffing money into the duffel. "I know the feeling."

"You don't know shit," Wade said, finding another bag and joining Roque. "If I have to listen to his rendition of 'America the Beautiful' one more time, I think I'll just shoot myself."

"You're Canadian," Roque said, and could only blame the fact that he was still speaking on pain and blood loss. "Isn't that against the Geneva Convention?"

Wade snorted. "Who the hell even follows the Geneva Convention anymore these days?" It was a surprise to Roque, how easily the banter came back. He was grateful for every little bit of him that remained the same as it had been. Roque and Wade packed as much money as they could into the two bags and used the emergency exit on the other side of the plane to avoid detection.

If Roque shot one or two of the guards pinning Jensen and Pooch, only he knew. Wade was too busy getting a vehicle to notice.

~*~

Roque woke up to the sound of birdsong outside his window, and he smiled, stretching out in bed just to feel the softness of his pillows and sheets. He had nothing to do and nowhere to be, so he spent a lazy morning listening to jazz as he made himself coffee and an egg sandwich for breakfast.

Afterward, he fed the chickens and the cows, and then took his little truck down to the neighboring town to get the newspaper and chat with the old men that sat around a checkerboard outside the one little store of the neighborhood. He bought an apple and ate it slowly as he wandered down the street, and waved to an older lady who lived in one of the small houses, crossing the street so he wouldn't be stuck talking about her grandchildren.

It wasn't like the home he'd left behind, and it wasn't quite the home that he and Cougar had made together in that empty world they had shared, but it was still good. It was his.

He stayed in town for a while, just because he liked the people there, even joining in one of the games the kids were playing in the streets. Around eleven in the morning, it was starting to get too hot to be comfortable, the tropic humidity making Roque's shirt cling to him, so he said his goodbyes and drove back up to his farmhouse.

When he pulled into his driveway, there was an unfamiliar motorcyle there, and Roque's heart hammered in his chest with alarm, wondering if someone had found him, and he tried to remember where he'd hid his gun. The man leaning against the motorcycle, though, he was familiar, and it made his heart pound in an entirely different way.

Roque climbed out of his truck and shut the door. The sound drew Cougar's eyes to him, and Roque found himself staring. "Cougar."

Cougar tipped his hat, and then resumed his examination of the house. "This is our house."

"Not quite," Roque said, walking over to Cougar and shading his eyes as he looked at his house, trying to see it with Cougar's eyes. "I made a couple of improvements. I have a horse to go along with the chickens and the cows." He shifted, rolling his shoulders back to ease some of his discomfort. "I've completed the jazz collection."

Cougar stopped looking at the house, his eyes sliding over to study Roque instead. "You left."

"I don't stay where I'm not wanted," Roque replied, tension creeping into his shoulders.

"Idiot." Cougar turned to face Roque, and Roque mirrored the movement, trying to to flinch when Cougar raised his hand and put it on Roque's right shoulder, where Clay's bullet had struck. It was mostly healed, now. Roque didn't think he could forgive Clay, but—it didn't really matter anymore.

"Sometimes," Roque admitted, and Cougar smirked, stepping away from Roque and sauntering up the stairs to take a seat on the bench that Roque had put on the porch, propping his feet up on the railing and crossing his ankles.

Roque stared up at the house, at Cougar so easily slotting into place, and climbed the stairs, hesitating for only a second before he sat down beside Cougar, propping his own feet on the porch railing. "Welcome home."

Cougar didn't say a word, but his smile was small and warm and genuine, and the only thing Roque could do in response was smile back.

~*~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [see how this could be you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080383) by [lady_krysis (saekhwa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis)
  * [Rooftop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217738) by [omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omens/pseuds/omens)




End file.
